24. The Field
faith - n.
1 complete trust or confidence
2 duty or commitment to fulfil a trust, promise, etc.
He isn't afraid to show tenderness or affection, even when they aren't alone.
Bowman would have seen it as a weakness. From the start, back when they'd still been in high-school, he would throw an arm around her, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. A ribald comment in front of his friends, pinching her ass when she passed him. She didn't particularly like it, even back then, but she had thought that it was just his way, a roughness that concealed the feelings he didn't know how to express.
Later she had realised the truth. Every embrace was an imprisonment, each caress a threat.
Boyd's hands flutter around her face, brushing her cheeks so lightly she can barely feel them. Only when she leans into him do they rest on her, as though he's been asking for her permission. His voice is soft and gentle, his touch steady.
Devil glances at them, disinterested, Johnny and Arlo barely seem to notice them. Even if they did, he wouldn't care, just like he doesn't care what anyone thinks about anything.
Except for a few. He cares what she thinks. Her and one other, perhaps.
But that not-caring is strength, and in that lack of self-consciousness she feels safer than she has for a long time.
Later, outside the house, she stares out at the field, a dark stretch of grass, stubbled velvet under the starlight. The night air up here is clean, fresh and the mountains look closer, looming black against the sky.
She thinks about Helen's advice. It was good advice, practical, probably wise, but it isn't for her. Loving him isn't a choice, but standing with him is. Her choice, and she'll follow it every step of the way.
It's a still night but there's a chill to the air after the day's heat and she hunches against it, hands plunged deep into the pockets of her plaid jacket. Crickets chirrup in the thickets, their cheerful monotony a familiar and pleasant soundscape. She would think it a near-perfect night if they weren't where they are.
The faint whine of the hinges on the side-door joins the night symphony: open, closed, then the soft tread that she has come to recognise. He leans beside her against the hood of the truck and after a moment his arm goes around her shoulders - enveloping but not quite touching. She sinks into him, her head on his shoulder and she lets out the breath that has been caught behind her ribs for the last few hours. He draws her in, holding her steady.
'Are you okay?'
'I'm fine,' she murmurs, the words breathed against his collar and the light scent of his aftershave. She lifts her head. 'Just looking forward to when we can go home.'
'In the morning,' he says, 'I promise you that.'
She nods. His word, and she believes it because he does not lie to her. She links her fingers through his. 'I meant what I said earlier. I want you to tell me everything.'
'I know.'
'I mean it,' she repeats, firm. 'I don't want you keeping things from me.'
In the half-light she can see the amusement crinkle the corners of his eyes. 'You have a lot of rules.'
'And you better stick to them.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
She tries not to laugh but she can't help it and she is closer to him then, her head tilting back and he kisses her, gentle at first and then harder. She slides her arms around him, under his jacket, feels the warmth of his skin through his shirt.
'Ava.' His hand rests at the base of her throat, his thumb circling the hollow there and his face is suddenly serious. 'If you change your mind at any time, if you wish that we should part, then I will understand and I will not try to stop you.'
She shivers and it isn't against the night air. Sometimes, when he studies her face, it feels like he's trying to memorise her: every line and look and gesture. Saving it up against something. She doesn't want that, not tonight. Her eyebrows go up. 'You trying to get rid of me already?'
He sighs. 'Oh, Ava, I would keep you by my side for the rest of my life. But only if it's what you want.'
'It is what I want,' she tells him.
There's a flicker across his face, almost like impatience, as though she is wilfully misunderstanding him. 'If at some point-'
She places her fingers against his lips. 'Now is when you don't talk.'
She feels him smile. And for a long time neither of them speak.